


An Acquired Taste

by lenin_it_to_win_it



Category: Ben 10 Series
Genre: (this fic was completed ahead of time and will update every Friday), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eating Disorders, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenin_it_to_win_it/pseuds/lenin_it_to_win_it
Summary: Ben has successfully recreated the universe. . . or has he? One wrong taste has him questioning everything-- if he couldn't properly replicate grape smoothies, what else could he have gotten wrong? Unable to face what's he's done and what he may have lost, Ben starts avoiding food in a desperate attempt to protect himself from traumatic reminders of the universe he left behind. When fear sends Ben spiraling into a vortex of self-hatred and starvation, his family and friends-- and a few unlikelier allies-- do everything they can to protect him from himself.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to let anyone with an ED who's worried about being triggered by this fic know that I don't include any weights or calorie counts or any numbers along those lines, so if that's something you were concerned about, it's all good. Obviously, given the subject matter, it can still be triggering for plenty of other reasons, so, you know... trust your judgement on this one and give it a skip if you feel like you're not in the right headspace for it. 
> 
> That said, this fic isn't all doom and gloom--it's 7 chapters of gloom and doom followed by 3 that are more hurt-comfort focused on the healing process. This fic has been really cathartic to write, so hopefully, reading it won't be a pointless exercise in mindless suffering.

Ben wasn’t sure if it was the sugar high or the exhilaration of recreating the universe, but he was feeling jittery as he reached for his fifth smoothie. Electricity skittered through his veins, reminding him of the adrenaline rush of battle, minus the underlying pain and exhaustion. This was pure energy. Ben wondered if Gwen felt the same way while using her mana powers. He smiled to himself. Even Gwen, with all her magic, couldn’t have done what he just did. 

The universe had been destroyed, but Ben brought it back. Perhaps it might have been more accurate to say that Alien X brought it back, but that was just a technicality. It was Ben’s determination that allowed Alien X to act, his vision of reality that the new universe was patterned after. And, Ben reflected, he had done a pretty perfect job.

The afternoon sunlight was bright as alway. The discordant symphony of city noise was a song so familiar he could hardly hear it. Rook, who refused to believe any of what Ben had told him, was his usual weird self. Everything was as it should be. Everyone was safe. Ben had saved them all, yet again. 

  
Ben lifted the smoothie to his lips, but, before he could taste it, Rook interrupted his self-congratulatory stream of thought.

“With how frequently you consume these, I am surprised none of your enemies have tried to poison you yet,” said Rook, nudging one of many empty cups strewn around the table so that it rolled over to Ben. “If someone were to randomly poison one smoothie at one location in Bellwood every day, you would most likely be dead within a week.” 

Ben laughed, tossing the old cup into a nearby trash can. “Vilgax should hire you as a consultant, or something.” 

“I doubt Psyphon would be pleased with that,” said Rook. “I would be poisoned next.” 

“Get a taste-tester,” Ben suggested. “There’s some species out there that can eat anything.”

Rook nodded. “You have a point. Humans, for example, are capable of ingesting a frightening number of pulverized fruits, vegetables, and insects.”

“Hey, not all humans.” Ben grinned. “It takes years of practice. Watch and learn,” he added, shaking his cup. “I bet I can drink this in one sip.”

“I am certain you  _ can _ , but that does not mean that you _ should _ .”

Ignoring Rook’s words of caution, Ben slurped his smoothie. 

It tasted _ wrong _ . 

Ben could sense it the moment the liquid hit his tongue, but he forced himself to swallow. He hoped his initial impression would fade as he kept drinking, but it didn’t. His heart pounded. His stomach churned. His mind raced, desperate for an explanation. 

It was a grape smoothie. Grapes were not a fruit that was commonly smoothiefied. Most people would expect a grape smoothie to taste wrong. Of course, most people didn’t frequent Mr. Smoothy’s as often as Ben did, and none of them had ever had to put up with Grandpa Max’s cooking; grape smoothies were far from the weirdest thing he’d tasted. And this grape smoothie was nothing like any he’d had before. 

Ben slurped faster, shivering. He gripped the cup harder to counteract the tremors in his hands. 

Why was this different? Were the grapes bad? Had there been a minute change in the recipe, something only a smoothie fanatic like himself would notice? Maybe the blender hadn’t been cleaned properly and some other ingredient had gotten into the mix, throwing off the delicate balance of flavor. Ben could come up with thousands of explanations for the change-- completely mundane, rational explanations. But he didn’t believe any of them. 

Ben stood up, intending to throw the cup away, but the world tilted suddenly, as if sliding off its axis. Waves of vertigo crushed him back into his seat. Ben’s eyes darted around, expecting to see evidence of an alien attack, but the sunlight was too sharp. Everything seemed to blend and blur. As the outside world lost focus, Ben’s consciousness of his body intensified. He was sickeningly, horribly aware of a writhing in his stomach, a poisonous inner mass clawing to get out. 

Shoving his chair aside, Ben dropped to his knees and vomited on the pavement. No matter how long he heaved, more kept coming. It was as if the destroyed universe had been liquidized in his stomach and was now forcing its way up his throat, demanding recognition. But, after what felt like eternity, the torrent sputtered out, leaving Ben empty, shaken, gasping for air. 

  
It took Ben a moment to notice a gentle pressure on his shoulder, a moment longer to place it as Rook’s hand. Rook helped Ben to his feet, keeping him from collapsing into the puddle of vomit, and led him back to the table. He sat Ben down and handed him a napkin. Ben’s hands were shaking too badly to hold it. Without comment, Rook picked up another napkin and wiped Ben’s face. 

Ben took deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. Eventually, the pain and terror faded enough for him to be embarrassed by Rook’s attentiveness, and he waved his partner’s hand away. He tried for a smile. “Well, that was gross.”

“I have seen worse,” Rook assured him. “I helped care for my siblings when they were ill in the past. I am quite used to vomit.” 

“Still. . .” Ben grimaced at the taste in his mouth; the grape lingered, cutting through the rancid bile. 

  
“It is all right.” Despite his calm tone, Rook’s eyes were bright with concern. “Are you feeling better now?”   
  
“Oh, yeah,” said Ben weakly. “Totally fine.” He stared at a cup someone had left partially crumpled on the ground by the trash can. “I just had one smoothie too many.” 


	2. Chapter 2

After puking his guts out at Mr. Smoothy’s, Ben went home, brushed his teeth until his gums were bleeding, the iron tang finally eclipsing the  _ wrongness _ , and collapsed onto his bed. He could almost see questions in the air, circling like vultures. What else was missing? What else was wrong? What else had he failed to save?

_ Everything _ , Ben realized. A chill ran down his spine. The entire universe had been destroyed. Now, even the parts he had recreated perfectly were just that-- a recreation, a shadow of the original.

Ben heard his mother calling. “Ben, dinnertime!” Her voice was so cheerful, so normal. . . 

For a moment, Ben was able to convince himself to calm down. After all, just because he’d gotten  _ one _ thing wrong didn’t mean _ everything _ was off. The people he cared about were still alive-- or, at least, the newer versions of them were. It could have been worse. It could have been so much worse. 

Ben forced himself to ignore his impending sense of dread as he joined his mom at the table. “Dad’s working late again?” he asked. He already knew the answer, but the empty air was oppressive. 

“When isn’t he?” Sandra replied, a glint of humor in her eyes. 

Ben stared at his bowl. Dinner was some bizarre, leafy mixture somewhere between a soup and a casserole. He picked up his spoon, then set it down after catching a glimpse of his reflection. Ben didn’t want to see his eyes. They looked normal, but he couldn’t help but compare them to his mother’s. Hers were an unusually light, almost yellowish shade of green; were they always that vivid, or did the color seem. . . exaggerated, somehow? 

Ben’s throat seized. He pushed his bowl away. He couldn’t risk tasting it. What if it was  _ wrong _ ? 

“I’m not hungry,” Ben heard himself say. 

Sandra put down her spoon, exasperated. “Let me guess-- you ruined your appetite with smoothies.” 

Just thinking about smoothies made Ben feel sick. “Something like that.” 

“Well, I’ll leave some stew in the fridge for later,” said Sandra, shaking her head. She opened her mouth to say something else, then paused. “Is something wrong? You look nervous.” 

Ben flashed a smile.“Why would I be nervous?” Sandra glanced at the Omnitrix; before she could get any closer to unravelling Ben’s secret, he panicked and blurted out, “I got sick earlier. At Mr. Smoothy’s. I was worried you wouldn’t let me go on patrol tomorrow if you found out,” he added. He did his best to look guilty, which wasn’t difficult, since he  _ was _ lying to his mother. “It was just a passing thing, though. I should be fine by tomorrow. I just. . . don’t feel like eating right now.” 

  
Sandra’s expression was torn between sympathy and consternation. “That’s not something you should hide from me, Ben. Fighting aliens is dangerous enough when you’re healthy-- you  _ shouldn’t _ go on patrol if you’re sick.” She sighed, then added, in a gentler tone, “But, I’m glad you chose to be honest.”

“Honesty is _ so _ important,” Ben agreed. 

Sandra got up and gave Ben a hug. The moment she stepped back, Ben felt cold. “Get some rest,” she told him. “We’ll see how you’re feeling in the morning and settle this patrol business then, okay?” Ben nodded, and his mother kissed him on the cheek. “I love you.”   
  
“Love you, too, Mom.” 

“If you need anything, I’ll be right here.”

_ But you’re not  _ really _ here _ , Ben’s mind whispered.  _ You’re dead.  _

_ No,  _ Ben told himself forcefully. _ She’s not. She’s right here. She’s _ fine _. _

Ben refused to start panicking again, but his body didn’t care what he decided. He shoved his hands in his pockets so his mother wouldn’t see his hands shaking and retreated to his room. He went to bed but did not sleep. 

***

Morning came, and, with it, hunger.

Ben wasn’t sure when he’d eaten last, not counting the smoothies he’d thrown up. Figuring it out would require mentally retracing the previous day, so Ben didn’t. All he knew was, his stomach was snarling, and his limbs felt heavy as he dragged himself out of bed. He was glad he had slept in his clothes so he didn’t have to bother getting dressed. 

By the time Ben reached his mother in the kitchen, all traces of exhaustion had been beaten into submission. “Morning, Mom,” he said casually. “I’m feeling much better now-- looks like yesterday was nothing to worry about.” After all,  _ nothing _ worried Ben 10. Heroes didn’t start puking and panicking just because the universe had temporarily been wiped out. 

Sandra pulled a glass baking dish out of the oven, then turned to look at Ben, eyes narrowed in motherly suspicion. “You’re not just saying that so I’ll let you go on patrol, are you?” 

“Would I lie to you?” Ben asked, looking hurt. 

Sandra pretended to think about it. “Well, there _ was _ that time you kept your double life fighting aliens a secret from your father and I. For  _ five years _ .”

Ben winced. Even though his parents were more or less okay with him using the Omnitrix and going on missions, they still weren’t pleased that he had kept it hidden for so long. Ben wondered how much time would pass before they’d stop bringing it up. A couple decades, maybe.

“Really, I’m fine,” Ben insisted. “It was just some nausea, and I’m over it now.”

Sandra only started to relent after taking Ben’s temperature. “You don’t have a fever,” she said with a doubtful glance at the thermometer. “And you’re _ sure _ you’re okay?”

  
Ben smiled brightly. “A hundred and ten percent.” 

Sandra’s intuition told her something was wrong, but nothing seemed to confirm her fears, so she dismissed them and smiled back. “Well, that’s good. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” She picked up a knife from the counter. “I found this great recipe for eggless quiche the other day, and I thought we could try it out for breakfast.”

Ben almost talked himself into it. He was hungry, and he knew he had to eat at some point. His mother seemed to believe he was well enough to go on patrol, but skipping breakfast might change her mind. Besides, Ben had never had eggless quiche before; even if it tasted weird, he could probably chalk it up to the strangeness of the recipe. 

Then his mother smiled. Ben wasn’t sure why that changed anything, but, all of a sudden, it was too much. His throat constricted. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t be in the same room as his smiling, loving mother and her eggless quiche and pretend guilt wasn’t eating him alive.

Ben swallowed hard and managed to speak. “Actually, I just remembered-- I’m supposed to report to headquarters today.” The lie came out smoothly, but the words were rancid in Ben’s mouth. “So, I should probably get going. I’ll get something to eat in Undertown, though.” 

A brief conversation, an argument in the early stages, followed, but Ben was more focused on the voice in his head. It sounded like his own, but he imagined it as an outsider, a spectator, someone shouting from the sidelines as he stood frozen at the goal, the ball hurtling toward him. 

_ You don’t deserve to be here. Everyone else died because of you. You think you saved them just because they’re here now? You let them die. You don’t deserve to live.  _

The voice grew louder and louder. It was thunderous, suffocating. Eventually, the conversation between Ben and his mother faded, and he left. The silent, deafening conversation in his head continued. It followed Ben wherever he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting chapters one and two at the same time because the first chapter is so short-- after this, it's gonna be one chapter every Friday, so keep your eyes peeled and your enemies peeled-er or whatever the saying is.


	3. Chapter 3

Ben skipped breakfast every day and started coming home later and later after missions so he could miss dinner, too. His mom saved him leftovers, but all Ben had to do was throw them out, then rearrange the trash so she wouldn’t notice the suspicious amount of food left uneaten. The only tricky part was making sure she wouldn’t walk in on him elbow-deep in garbage. Before long, Ben learned to time his “dinners” around Sandra’s evening workout. When he heard music coming from the living room, he would creep into the kitchen and hide the evidence. He never got caught. 

On busy days, Ben could get away with missing lunch entirely. Rook was so dedicated to his work, it was easy to convince him to skip lunch if they had a particularly difficult case to deal with. Of course, Rook was surprised that Ben was the one to make the suggestion, given his penchant for goofing off, but he was nearly always willing to go along with it. When the day was slow enough to justify taking a lunch break, Ben would move his food around enough to give the impression of eating or sneak bites into a napkin. Rook never seemed to notice.

However, Ben did not stop eating altogether. There were four smoothie flavors he knew to be safe, ones he had before tasting the grape. They were the only things Ben could trust himself to eat, so he would force himself to ignore his clawing hunger until he could make it to a Mr. Smoothy’s, where he would drink desperately, trying to fill the pit in his stomach. It wasn’t nearly enough. 

Food haunted Ben. The sight of it made him weak with hunger; the smell of it made him sick with fear. He wanted it, needed it, but wouldn’t let himself have it. He knew even the smallest bite could send him spiralling, forcing him to admit what had happened. It was easier to pretend it was just one bad smoothie. If he didn’t taste it again, it wasn’t real. If he didn’t taste  _ anything _ , it  _ couldn’t  _ be real. 

Days turned into weeks, and Ben’s refusal to eat took its toll. He lost weight he didn’t have to lose, leaving his body brittle and weak. He was cold, dizzy, and irritable at all times, so devoid of energy he wondered if it was how Morningstar’s victims felt. His stomach was a black hole, a nothingness that could devour everything. 

  
Ben knew what was happening to him. He welcomed it. Starvation was a bad thing, which made it a good thing, because Ben deserved to have bad things happen to him. After he let the entire universe get destroyed, it only seemed fair to destroy his body, too. 

All the while, Ben gave every impression of being his usual flippant self. He joked around with Rook, trash-talked villains, and took great care to let everyone know just how much he didn’t care about pretty much everything. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to find out what he had done, and his refusal to eat could be a clue. 

Ben knew he was being paranoid-- if his own partner didn’t believe him when he tried to explain what had happened, it was unlikely anyone else would attribute his strange eating habits to the destruction of the universe-- but he couldn’t make himself stop. Ben had been hiding behind protective walls of humor and arrogance for a long time. The constant hunger was new; hollowness was not. 

Ben camouflaged his weight loss with baggy pants, loose hoodies, and layers, but there wasn’t much he could do to hide is face. Eventually, his mother noticed. 

“Stop moping around in your room,” Sandra called from the hallway. “It’s a beautiful day outside-- come help me in the garden.” 

Ben forced himself out of bed, narrowly resisting the urge to sink further under the heap of blankets he had buried himself in. When he wasn’t on patrol, he spent as much of the day as possible trying to sleep off the pain. He followed his mom outside, and she turned to say something, squinting in the bright afternoon sunlight. Then her eyes widened.    
  
“Oh, Ben, when did this happen?” asked Sandra anxiously, putting her hands on Ben’s cheeks. 

Ben decided to play dumb. “When did what happen?”

“You’ve lost weight, haven’t you?” 

“I don’t know.” Ben’s eye twitched; Sandra stared him down, daring him to keep lying. “I mean, I guess so. I wasn’t trying to.” 

Sandra touched Ben’s forehead. “Are you sick? Have you been throwing up?” 

“I’m fine,” said Ben, pushing her hand away.

“Then, what is it?” Sandra asked, her tone somewhere between frustration and panic. “Some kind of extreme diet? It’s all my fault,” she said, shaking her head. “Always going on about health foods--”

  
“Mom,  _ no _ .” Ben sighed internally; maybe if he told enough half-truths, it would add up to something believable, and his mom would leave him alone. “I guess I haven’t been eating enough lately,” he admitted. “I’ve been so busy with patrol and everything. . .” 

Sandra sighed. “Come here,” she said, holding out her arms. 

Ben let his mother hug him. For a moment, he felt almost warm. 

“You’re a hero, and I’m very proud of you, but you can’t sacrifice  _ everything _ , Ben.” 

Ben choked down a wave of guilt. His mother thought he was a hero _ now _ , but, if she found out what he had done. . .

Sandra held Ben at arms’ length so she could look him in the eyes. “You need to take better care of yourself, and you need to let your dad and I take care of you, too, sometimes. Do you understand?”   
  


Ben nodded, relieved. At least his mother seemed to think the weight loss was accidental. 

Sandra’s gaze sharpened. “Now, get inside. We’re finding out what you weigh.”

Accident or not, she clearly wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

Sandra despaired over the number on the scale. Even Ben was a little surprised. He knew from looking at himself that he was thinner, but he  _ felt _ so much heavier.

“You were already at the lower end of average at your last physical, but this can’t be healthy,” said Sandra, shaking her head. 

“I promise I’ll start eating more,” Ben lied. 

Sandra took a deep breath. “You’re sixteen years old, and I don’t want to take away your independence, so I’m going to give you a chance. But,” she added sharply. “If you lose any more weight, I’m doing everything I can to make sure you’re eating enough, whether that means rearranging your patrol schedule or personally dragging Azmuth here from Galvan Prime so he can remove the Omnitrix.” 

“Mom!” Ben exclaimed, shocked. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” 

“When it comes to keeping you safe, there’s no such thing.” 

“The Omnitrix has nothing to do with this,” Ben protested.

“You’re under a lot of pressure, Ben.” Sandra’s face was so sympathetic, Ben had to look away. “Can you honestly tell me the Omnitrix has nothing to do with that?”

Ben’s voice was hard. “I can handle it.”

***

Ben sulked his way through dinner. He took quick, sharp bites. He didn’t chew. He swallowed forcefully. He refused to let himself taste anything. If he focused on how annoyed he was at his mother for treating him like a child, he could almost pretend to be more angry than afraid. But the fear remained, seething below the surface, sending tremors through his hand every time he picked up his fork. 

Sandra was so relieved to see Ben eating, she let his attitude go unremarked. Instead, she chattered about her garden as if determined to be cheerful enough for the both of them. Despite the brightness of her voice, her eyes were intent, troubled. Ben could feel her tracing the movement of his fork, studying every swallow. 

After what felt like forever, Ben managed to clear his plate. He pushed it away and stood up, trying to ignore the tension mounting in his stomach. After living off smoothies for weeks, it struggled to adjust to solid food. Ben’s jagged bites hadn’t helped. “There, I finished my vegetables. Can I go out and play now?”

Ben’s sarcasm didn’t seem to needle Sandra so much as worry her. The concern in her eyes deepened. “I know you think I’m being overbearing, but, whether you like it or not, your well-being is my responsibility,” she said, taking his plate and stacking it on top of hers. “And, now, you’re lashing out, you’re not eating--”

“I just ate right in front of you!”

“--you stay shut up in your room all day,” Sandra continued, ignoring Ben’s interjection. “And I don’t know what you’re doing in there, but you can’t be sleeping enough, because you have these awful dark circles around your eyes--”

In spite of himself, Ben’s anger fizzled out. It took too much energy to keep the flame going, but, without that sustaining fire, he felt battered, drained. Weak. And there was nothing to hold back the fear. He felt sick and scared, and he hated it. He hated himself.

A part of Ben wanted to tell his mother everything. He wanted to be treated like a little kid, to be held and reassured that the grown-ups would handle things. He wanted to shift the crushing weight of responsibility off his shoulders, if only for a moment. The rest of Ben was disgusted with himself for even considering it. He _ was _ responsible for letting the universe get destroyed. Any suffering that came as a consequence was well-earned, and he would bear it alone.


	4. Chapter 4

_ It’s just a smoothie, _ Ben told himself, staring at the cup in his hand.  _ It’s not going to kill me.  _ But he couldn’t convince himself to take a sip. It wasn’t one of his safe flavors; in fact, it wasn’t from Mr. Smoothy’s at all. 

“I thought I would try something different for breakfast this morning, so I made amber ogia smoothies,” Rook had declared brightly. “And I know no one enjoys smoothies more than you, so I made one for you as well,” he added, handing a cup to Ben. “I hope you will enjoy it.” 

Ben was almost relieved when his first impression-- an embarrassing, fluttery feeling that intensified when Rook’s fingers accidentally brushed against his-- was crushed by suspicion. As Ben withdrew further into his illness, Rook had gradually stopped trying to engage him in conversation when they were alone. Long, uneasy silences stretched between them. Ben had nothing to say, but Rook often seemed to be on the verge of speaking up, only to check himself at the last minute. 

Now, for no apparent reason, Rook was acting as if everything was normal. The change was jarring. Ben half-suspected his mother was behind it, but he wasn’t sure how she could’ve gotten in touch with Rook. It was much easier-- and not at all disappointing-- for Ben to view Rook’s smoothie in that light, as part of a calculated ploy to get him to eat. Still. . . if that was what it was, Rook had put in unnecessary effort to make it himself. 

_ But I’m not hungry, _ Ben thought.  _ I don’t need it. I don’t  _ want _ it. _

He was past hunger; a hollow ache dominated his stomach, but it was a forbidding sort of pain, one that made Ben suspect food would make it worse, not better. His afternoon smoothie intake had decreased. No matter how “safe” the flavor was, Ben could only manage to get a few sips down before nausea took over. 

Fortunately, Ben had plenty of experience pretending to eat in front of Rook. With a smoothie, all he had to do was take a few loud, convincing slurps and let the liquid drain back through the straw before reaching his mouth. Sure enough, after the first few sips, Rook visibly relaxed, smiling at Ben. Ben smiled back. He wondered how many times he would have to trick his partner before he stopped feeling guilty about it. 

“A lot of advanced technology has been going missing around Undertown,” said Rook, taking a turn. “I expect we will hear more at our briefing, but--”

Ben tried to make himself interested, but it was hard to pay attention. His head felt full and empty at the same time, crowded with static. The fuzziness was a nice contrast to panic, but, sometimes, the static got too heavy. Ben could hear people talking, but the words were blurred out, and he couldn’t find any of his own. Even if he knew what to say, his tongue was like a sandbag. Talking was so much work. Everything was too much work-- falling asleep, waking up, standing without losing his balance. . .

Ben faked another sip and put his smoothie in a cup holder. He leaned against the window, wincing slightly at the cool pressure on his bruised, swollen cheek. After weeks of near-starvation, his reflexes had dulled. Hits he should have been able to dodge kept landing. His skin was a collage of bruises, ranging from mottled grayish-purple to faded yellow-green. 

Ben closed his eyes, hoping for a few minutes of sleep. Light glinted off the Omnitrix, piercing the darkness behind his eyelids. Ben glared at the watch. Lately, it had been nothing but trouble. 

  
_ No malfunctions today, got it?  _ Ben thought fiercely, as if the Omnitrix could read his mind. For all he knew, maybe it could. _ I don’t know what’s been going on with you, but pull it together.  _

The Omnitrix had been glitching more and more over the past few days. Ben was used to getting the wrong alien, or timing out erratically, but he had never encountered this type of malfunction before.

The first time it happened, Ben was in the shower. No matter how many layers he wore, he shivered constantly, and long, scalding showers were his only refuge from the constant chill. The heat also produced steam, which kept Ben from having to look at himself. 

Ben hated the sight of his weak, pathetic body. On days where he failed to elude his mother at dinnertime and had to eat something, his bloated stomach repulsed him all the more. He didn’t deserve food. He deserved to waste away, slowly and painfully, to eat away at himself until he was nothing but bone.

It was a relief when Ben’s vision started blurring. Everything felt dark and slow. . .

Ben’s heart raced. He jolted back-- up? He was moving so quickly, it was hard to tell-- and found himself pressed against slick tile. Water pounded against his skin. His heart rate was so high, he couldn’t tell where one beat ended and another began: it was a continuous rush of life. That was when Ben saw his hand-- his claw, a three-fingered black claw attached to a thin blue arm.

“XLR8?” Ben exclaimed. He had no memory of pressing the Omnitrix. Had he slipped and hit it against the bathtub? Ben felt like he would have noticed that, but maybe he had blacked out? Tentatively, he reached toward the Omnitrix, but, before he could touch it, the transformation reversed itself, leaving only a slightly elevated heart rate as evidence that it had ever occurred. 

Though shaken, Ben tried to push the event from his mind. Then it happened again-- a loss of sensation, an unexplained transformation. Fasttrack. The third time, Ben turned into Goop moments before hitting the ground after he blacked out from standing too quickly. An inescapable pattern emerged: the Omnitrix was making him transform. 

Ben knew he should tell someone, but he didn’t want anyone to know that something was wrong. What if it was his fault? He hadn’t had to recreate the Omnitrix, but what if the malfunctions had something to do with the new universe it was trying to function in? 

_ The Omnitrix glitches out all the time,  _ Ben thought.  _ I can deal with it on my own. _

Rook pulled up to Plumber Headquarters, and Ben yanked his hoodie’s sleeve down to cover the Omnitrix. So far, it hadn’t malfunctioned in front of other people. Ben hoped it would stay that way. He was so focused on the watch, he didn’t bother to move slowly as he got out of the Proto-Truk.

The sudden movement-- sitting to standing, standing to jumping-- made Ben violently dizzy. He flailed, trying to grab the door to steady himself, but all he did was knock his smoothie out of the cupholder. Amber ogia sludge oozed over the seat and onto the floor, a small stream dribbling out of the doorway. Ben would have fallen if Rook hadn’t caught him. 

“Be careful,” said Rook lightly, setting Ben on his feet. “You would not want to--” He saw the smoothie puddle and went silent for a moment. Ben expected him to get upset over potential stains, but all Rook said was, “If you did not want to drink it, you could have just said so.”

***

The string of tech robberies Rook had mentioned were apparently being carried out by a pair of galvans suspected of being in league with Albedo. That was as much information as Ben could take in during the briefing; most of his energy was spent trying not to freeze to death.

Ben put his tongue between his teeth to keep them from chattering. Was headquarters always so cold? He wished he had thought to put another shirt on beneath his hoodie. He bit his tongue. The acid taste of blood filled Ben’s mouth.

  
“Ben!” Grandpa Max snapped. “Look at me.” 

  
Ben realized he had been staring at the ceiling and made himself meet his grandfather’s eyes. Grandpa Max was silent for a moment, his expression difficult to read. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, he went back to talking about the mission as if nothing had happened. Just as Grandpa Max was outlining the trap Ben and Rook should set to catch the criminals, an alarm went off. 

Patelliday burst through the door. “It’s those galvans everyone’s been after-- they broke into headquarters!” 

Grandpa Max rose from his seat, his expression grim. “What are they here for?”

“I think they’re trying to steal the--”

Without touching the Omnitrix, Ben transformed into Swampfire. The sudden, blissful warmth made him sigh in relief. Then he noticed Grandpa Max, Rook, and Patelliday staring and cleared his throat. “Whatever they want, they won’t get it!” He ran out the door, hoping he would be out of everyone’s sight before the transformation cut out. Fortunately, Ben timed out seconds before Rook followed him into the hallway.

“According to Magister Patelliday, they should be going that way,” Rook said, pointing down the hall. “If we are quick, we should be able to apprehend them before--” He took in Ben’s human form, eyes widening in surprise, then narrowing in confusion. “Why did you change back?”

A nearby explosion-- the galvans escaping-- kept Ben from having to explain. 

Moments later, he and Rook were tearing through Undertown in the Proto-Truk, pursuing their targets. Whatever they had stolen couldn’t have been large because their getaway vehicle was tiny. It looked like a miniature spaceship, but it didn’t fly high, typically levitating only a few inches above the cars on the road. Its size and speed made it difficult to follow.    
  
“We will never be able to catch them like this!” Rook turned to Ben. “If you could use one of your transformations to stop the vehicle--” 

Ben stared at the Omnitrix, panic edging out the numbness in his brain. 

_ What should I do? I should be better than this. I should’ve been able to come up with a plan by now. I can’t fail again! I can’t do this!  _ Ben forced himself to breathe.  _ Just do  _ something _. Anything’s better than just sitting here. _

Ben turned into the first alien he could think of.

“Feedback!”

Instantly, Ben’s head cleared. He felt strong, energetic,  _ alive _ . No matter what he had gotten wrong between universes, being Feedback still felt so right. He jumped out of the Proto-Truk and hopped on top of a neighboring car. Ignoring the flood of honks from irate drivers, he leapt from car to car, chasing the galvan’s ship.

Ben caught up quickly, planning to bring them down with an electric discharge. However, before he could strike, a glass panel on the top of the ship pulled back. A galvan popped out and blasted Ben with pink light. Ben dodged. He glanced at the light, which shot off a nearby car’s rear view mirror. Then he looked back at the galvan. They weren’t holding a weapon. 

_ Magic. _ Ben was stunned. Galvans typically relied on technology and intellect; it was strange to see one using mana manipulation. He would have to tell Gwen about it when he got the chance.    
  
Gwen. Ben tried to ignore the complex tangle of emotions thinking of her dredged up. It shouldn’t have been complicated. She had been his closest friend; now, she was a close friend who lived far away. But it wasn’t the same. She left, and so did Kevin, his two best friends abandoning him at once. Maybe if they had stayed around, if they had been there during the fight for the Annihilargh. . .

But they weren’t. Ben was the forgotten third wheel, the lone remnant of a universe he couldn’t save. Alone. Always alone. . .

A bolt of mana hit Ben in the chest, shooting him backward. He slammed into a car’s windshield. He heard glass shattering, a car alarm wailing, the beeping of the Omnitrix. Then silence. 

***

“Ben?  _ Ben? _ ”

Rook’s face swam into focus. His mouth was open, his eyes bright with concern. Ben heard his name again. Rook was saying his name. . . 

The back of Ben’s head hurt. The inside hurt, too. His vision blurred and darkened, and Ben was tempted to let go, to slide beneath the distorted shadows as if he was curling up under a warm black duvet, but Rook’s voice was so _ loud _ , so _ insistent _ . . . so worried. Even half-conscious, Ben knew that heroes weren’t supposed to make people worry. He sat up, blinking back spots. 

Rook sighed, relieved. “Thank goodness you are awake.” His tone sharpened. “What is your name?”   
  
Ben rubbed the back of his head, wincing. He couldn’t feel any blood or swelling, but there was definitely some tenderness. “Ben Tennyson.”

“And how old are you?”   
  
“Sixteen.” 

“Do you know where you are?”   
  
Ben squinted at his surroundings. A pervasive green gloom hung over everything. “Undertown.” Cars zoomed past. “On the side of the road?” He remembered hitting the windshield. “What happened with those galvans?” he asked. “Did they get away?”

Rook nodded. “I had to move you to safety. It has not been long, but you saw how quickly their ship could move. Even if we knew where they were headed, it would be difficult to catch up now.”

“So, we failed the mission.” Despite not having eaten, Ben felt like he was about to throw up. It was his fault. He let himself get distracted. Guilt and shame gnawed at his insides. Pulses of panic skittered down his spine. And yet, more than anything, Ben was angry. He hated himself, his weakness, his failure. Shaking, Ben tried to stand. Rook offered him a hand, but he refused to take it. “This is your fault, too,” he snapped. “You should’ve gone after them.”

  
Rook bristled. “I would have, if my partner did not distract me by losing consciousness. What were you thinking, standing still like that while they were firing at you?” Ben grimaced as his head throbbed, and Rook lowered his voice. “What is wrong with you, Ben?” Despite his frustration, Rook’s eyes were concerned, compassionate. 

Ben knew the question was genuine, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer. Instead, he turned

away, humiliated. He didn’t deserve to have Rook care about him. No one should care about him. No one would, if they knew just how worthless he really was. . . Tears stung Ben’s eyes. He tried to hold them back, but they fell. Each tear was another addition to a long string of failures. 

“Oh, please-- please, do not cry,” said Rook anxiously. “Is it your head? Are you in pain? Should I take you to the hospital?”

Ben managed to shake his head.

“Do not worry about the mission,” Rook told him. “We will apprehend those criminals another time. It is nothing to be upset about.”   
  
“But we failed!” Ben cried. “ _ I _ failed! I ruined everything!”

“You were injured-- it is not your fault,” said Rook. “It was wrong of me to blame you for getting struck,” he added, wincing. “I am sorry.”

“It  _ was _ my fault. It’s all my fault, everything. . .” 

  
Rook put his arms around Ben, holding him close. His body was solid and strong, his touch gentle as he traced comforting circles on his partner’s back. Ben could feel his tears subsiding in spite of himself. He knew he wasn’t worthy of Rook’s kindness, yet he couldn’t break away. It reminded him of how he felt after eating-- relieved, then ashamed of himself for relieving pain he deserved to feel.

“It hurts me to see you this way,” said Rook softly. “So sick and unhappy. I would do anything to help you, if you would tell me what is wrong.” 

Ben’s heart pounded viciously. He almost wished it would burst through his ribcage and bring all his secrets spilling out with it.  _ I tried to tell you, and you didn’t believe me, _ Ben felt like screaming. But he imagined the emotions that would pass through Rook’s eyes if he actually believed that Ben had recreated the universe— shock, disbelief, horror. . . then anger, disappointment, disgust. Hatred. 

Ben fought to keep his breathing even, not wanting his sniffles to devolve into sobs. He couldn’t bear to have Rook look at him like that— or Gwen, or his parents, or Grandpa Max, or anyone he cared about. He could never tell the truth. He would always be alone. 

Ben pulled away from Rook. “It’s nothing.”   
  
Rook stared at Ben in disbelief. Then his eyes narrowed. “You have been distant and erratic, you are losing focus during missions, you are not eating--”

“I eat.” Ben willed his voice to stay even. “I just don’t waste time with it on patrol anymore.”

“But you love wasting time!” Rook exclaimed. “At least, you used to. This is what I am talking about,” he said, shaking his head. “You are acting strange. And,” he added sharply. “Even if you are eating outside of patrol, it is obviously not enough.” 

“Now you sound like my mom,” Ben snapped. “The two of you should get together and start talking about my eating habits behind my back-- if you don’t already.”

“What are you _ talking _ about?”

Ben sat on the ground, burying his face in his hands. Arguing took too much energy. “I don’t know.”

Rook crouched beside him. “You are not making any sense. Are you sure you do not need to see a doctor?”  
  
More hot, humiliating tears slid down Ben’s cheeks. “I just want to go home,” he heard himself say.

“Okay, Ben,” said Rook gently. “I will take you home.”

Ben immediately started protesting. Their patrol shift wasn’t over. Grandpa Max would want an explanation regarding the mission. He didn’t _ really  _ want to go home, he was just saying that. Rook ignored every reason Ben came up with and led him to the Proto-Truk, helping him inside and shutting the door behind him. Ben sighed in defeat, closing his eyes. The air smelled like amber ogia from his spilled smoothie. 

Ben didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until Rook woke him up.

“We have arrived,” said Rook, as if Ben wouldn’t recognize his own house. 

“Thanks,” Ben muttered. He frowned as he and Rook got out of the Proto-Truk at the same time. “I can take it from here. You should get back to headquarters— they’re gonna be—“ Ben yawned; the short nap during the drive had only emphasized how tired he was. “—mad enough as it is.” 

“I will not leave you alone in your vulnerable state,” said Rook, circling around to Ben’s side. 

“Uh, greatest hero in the universe?” Ben retorted, pointing at the Omnitrix. “I think I can handle staying home alone without you around to babysit.” 

Rook’s level stare silenced any further quips. “Do you want to be alone?” 

_ No, but I am. _

  
Interpreting Ben’s silence as a no, Rook followed him into the house. Ben collapsed on the living room couch, and Rook sat in a nearby chair. Ben could sense his partner’s watchful gaze on the back of his head, warm and focused, light as a sunbeam.


	5. Chapter 5

Max was not pleased when Rook returned to headquarters. “You and Ben have a lot of explaining to do,” he said, crossing his arms. “First, Ben ran off before Patelliday could tell him where to go, then the two of you failed to catch those galvans, and, as if  _ that _ wasn’t enough, you left Undertown without notifying anyone while you were supposed to be on patrol! I had to track your badge just to figure out where you were.” 

Rook lowered his head. “I am very sorry, Magister Tennyson. There were. . . extenuating circumstances.” 

Max’s frown intensified. “What do you mean?” He glanced around. “And where’s Ben, anyway? He didn’t come back with you?”

“Ben is at home,” said Rook, straightening. “He was injured during our mission this morning and lost consciousness. I stayed with him until his mother arrived--”

  
“He was injured? Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?” Max asked, raising his voice. “He could have a concussion-- that needs to be evaluated right away.”

“I tested his memory, and he did not seem to be experiencing any difficulty with recall,” said Rook. “However, I recognize that it was still a breach of protocol not to bring him to a medical professional immediately,” he added, ashamed. “It is no excuse, but emotions were running high, and I did not exercise good judgement. When Ben said he wanted to go home, my only thought was that it might get him to him stop crying--”

“Crying?” Max interjected. His heart pounded. After everything Ben had been through, Max knew it would take something major to make him cry. “From the pain?”

Rook hesitated. “Pain may have been part of it, but I do not think that was why.” Rook’s eyes were painfully earnest as they met Max’s. “Magister Tennyson, I am worried about Ben”

Max kept his expression steady, but anxiety stirred beneath the surface. He remembered pausing during the mission briefing in the morning, frowning as he examined his grandson’s face. Ben had been staring at the ceiling, the harsh lights overhead emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes and casting shadows under his cheeks. His jaw was twitching slightly, almost like he was talking to himself, although Max couldn’t hear anything. He looked sick, tired, as if he had been pushing himself far too hard for far too long. 

“Ben,” Max snapped, fear sharpening his tone. “Look at me.”

Ben complied. There was a beat of silence— tense on Max’s end, empty on Ben’s— as Max convinced himself nothing was wrong. 

Ben’s face might have been thinner than usual, but he had always been a skinny kid. Max blamed it on puberty; after all, Ben was only sixteen, and his body was still changing. As for the dark circles— Ben probably  _ was _ tired, but who knows how late he had been up the night before, playing video games or watching TV? Max wasn’t sure what to make of the twitching. His best guess was that it was some kind of nervous tic, but he didn’t know what Ben would be nervous about.

After a moment’s hesitation, Max decided that he was just being paranoid and continued the briefing. But, now, with Rook’s flame-colored eyes burning into his conscience, Max wished he had trusted his instincts. 

“I’ve been worried, too,” Max admitted with a sigh. “What have you noticed, Rook?” 

At first, Rook seemed relieved, as if he had expected an argument. Then he frowned, realizing their shared suspicion made whatever was wrong with Ben that much more real. “Well,” Rook began. “Ben has been rather. . . distracted lately.”

“Really?” Max couldn’t keep a hint of wryness out of his inflection. When  _ wasn’t _ Ben distracted? “Is that why the two of you failed your mission today?” he added in a sterner tone. 

“It could not be helped,” said Rook quickly. “Please, do not be upset with Ben.”

“Rook, I’m glad Ben has a partner like you looking out for him, but you have to let him take some responsibility,” said Max, shaking his head. “If he’s been distracted during missions—” Rook’s pained expression gave him pause; the revonnahgander was clearly doing all he could not to interrupt. “What is it?” 

“This is not his usual distraction,” said Rook. “Ben has been quiet and withdrawn, and I believe he is hiding something, though I do not know what it could be.”

Max wracked his brains, but he had no idea what Ben’s secret could be. What could affect him so strongly? Was he in danger? Was someone else? 

“Have you noticed anything strange about the Omnitrix?” Max asked. “Any malfunctions?” Maybe Ben had tried to tamper with it— wouldn’t be the first time— and felt guilty about it.

Rook considered. “This morning, I found it strange when Ben transformed into Swampfire only to turn back into himself once he entered the hallway, but I do not know if it was due to a malfunction.” 

“We’ll keep an eye on it,” said Max decisively. “But, for now— what else have you noticed?”

“He is not eating as much as he used to,” said Rook. “He is always trying to convince me that he does not want to get lunch, and, when we do, he picks at his food and eats hardly anything.”

Max thought of Ben’s hollow face with a pang of guilt. “Good to know,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

“Well. . .” Rook paused, conflicted, before speaking again. “His emotions have not been very stable. When we failed to apprehend our target earlier, Ben was. . . distraught. He began to cry, and I did not know how to comfort him. I had never seen him so--” Rook did not seem far from tears himself, but he took a deep breath and continued. “That is why I took him home. Ben said it was what he wanted, and I thought allowing him to rest would help him clear his head.” 

“Plumbers can’t just abandon protocol the second someone gets upset and starts crying,” said Max, crossing his arms. “You know that, Rook.”

Chastised, Rook dropped his gaze. “Yes, Magister Tennyson.” 

“But,” Max added, “As Ben’s grandpa, I can’t get too upset with you for having his best interests at heart. You did what you thought would help him most-- that’s what any good friend should do.”

“I do not _ feel  _ like a good friend,” said Rook in a low voice. “I feel as if I am missing something, and Ben will continue to suffer until I find out what it is.” 

“Whatever’s going on with Ben, I’m sure it’s not your fault,” said Max, putting a hand on Rook’s shoulder. “Look out for him, like you always do, be there for him-- but don’t blame yourself.”

Rook sighed. “I will do my best.”

Max dismissed Rook, but his sense of guilt was harder to get rid of. Had he been pushing Ben too hard, prioritizing missions over his well-being? Was it  _ his _ fault Ben looked so hollow-faced and empty-eyed, that he was tense, and twitchy, and so wound up, even minor failures could leave him ‘distraught’? Max hated to even think about it, but it had to be considered. 

_ I’ll find out what’s hurting him and figure out what to do about it, no matter what it takes. _

The first thing to do was talk with Ben’s parents. Rook had mentioned not leaving until Ben’s mother had gotten home, so Sandra should already know that he had gotten injured. Max wondered if she had told Carl yet and decided to call him.

Carl picked up after a few rings. “If this is about Ben getting injured, I know. Sandra told me,” he said shortly. Max heard a car door close, followed by a muffled thump, and the faint flutter of rustling papers. “I’m heading home, so you’ll be on speaker, if there’s anything else you wanted to tell me.” 

Keys clinked; the engine revved. Carl cursed under his breath and muttered something about a crooked car parked next to his. He was clearly upset and in no mood to talk, but the conversation needed to be had, so Max spoke anyway. 

“I’m sorry Ben got hurt,” he said. “I had my doubts about sending him on that mission, and I ignored them. It’s my fault.” 

  
“You’ve been putting his life at risk since he was ten-- why start having doubts now?” 

Max was taken aback by the venom in Carl’s voice. “I know you blame me for letting him keep the Omnitrix--” 

  
“You’re damn right I do!” Carl snapped. The traffic noises heightened, punctuated by the staccato shriek of someone’s horn, and Carl raised his voice. “He was a child, and you let him run around with the most dangerous invention in the universe strapped to his wrist! Not only that, but you hid it from us for years. All that time, Sandra and I had no idea how much danger our son was in--” 

“Danger he proved he could handle, time and time again,” Max interjected.

  
“And obviously I recognize that, or his alien-fighting days would’ve ended the minute Sandra and I found out about the Omnitrix,” said Carl hotly. “This isn’t about what Ben can and can’t do-- this is about you putting my son in danger.” Carl took several deep breaths. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but not calmer. “Maybe his injuries weren’t that serious today, but what are you going to do if he  _ is  _ badly hurt? What if he dies? You’re gonna call and say, ‘I’m sorry’?” 

  
Max was silent. He figured the conversation wouldn’t go anywhere until Carl had a chance to vent his frustrations. 

“I’ve wondered what you would’ve done if something happened and Ben died before we found out about the Omnitrix,” Carl continued. “Would you have even bothered telling us the truth?” 

Max couldn’t ignore the unsettling hypothetical. “Of course I would have,” he said, not even succeeding in convincing himself.

“Right.”

“Carl, I understand why you’re upset,” said Max slowly. “I’m upset with myself, too. We can argue later, but, right now, I need to ask if you and Sandra have noticed anything different about Ben recently. I think he looks sick, his partner says he’s hiding something, and the only way any of us are going to get to the bottom of this is if we talk about it.”

Carl was silent for a moment. “I haven’t been home all that much. I’ve been working later and later these past few months-- I consider myself lucky if I see Ben at all during the week.” Carl sighed. “If something was going on with him, I’d be the last to know.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” said Max, detecting guilt in his son’s voice. “I was gone all the time when you and Frank were Ben’s age, and you both turned out fine.” 

“If Ben was fine, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Carl cut in. “I haven’t been there for him like I should have. But,” he added, determined. “That’s going to change right now.”

“That’s great. You do that,” said Max encouragingly. “And, what about Sandra? Has she told you anything?” 

Max could hear Carl tapping on the steering wheel. “She’s worried that he hasn’t been eating enough. He was skipping breakfast to go on patrol, or something like that. She says they’ve talked about it, though. I didn’t take it very seriously,” Carl added, chagrined. “Sandra’s always been touchy about food.”

“Rook says Ben hasn’t been eating as much on patrol, either.” Max kept his voice even despite his mounting concern. “There’s definitely a pattern here.”

“Why would Ben stop eating?” Carl asked, confused. “Do you think it’s some kind of. . . alien thing?” 

“It’s hard to tell without knowing what’s going on in Ben’s head,” Max replied.

“Sandra and I will talk to him.” 

“I will, too,” said Max. “If this  _ is _ related to anything alien, he might find it easier to bring it up with me. He feels like he has to protect you two from that sort of thing.” 

“He shouldn’t,” Carl cut in. “But, I know you’re right.” 

“I thought I would take him fishing for the weekend. Some one-on-one time might give him a chance to open up.”   
  
Carl sighed. “Let’s hope so.” 

  
“He’ll be alright, Carl,” said Max reassuringly. “Ben has a lot of people looking out for him-- we’ll figure this out.” He said goodbye to his son and ended the call, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded.

***

As soon as his mother let him out of her sight, Ben hid in his room, sulking as he recounted the whole miserable day. 

After the humiliation of failing his mission, crying like a baby, and making Rook drive him home, Ben had woken up on the couch to the sound of his mother’s voice. She was chatting with Rook-- that  _ traitor _ \-- and Ben’s paranoia spiked before he realized they were just talking about plants.

  
“And it really grows right out of the stone?” Sandra was asking, intrigued. “I wish Earth plants were that resilient-- mine are so fussy about their soil.”

Then Ben made the mistake of sitting up. His mother immediately started fussing over him, putting all her soil-snob plants to shame. Ben was forced to endure a million questions about his injury, how he was feeling, blah, blah, blah. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Sandra invited Rook to stay for lunch. 

Fortunately, they had leftovers. Ben knew the food didn’t taste _ wrong _ since he had already had to try it at dinner, which made it easier to get down. It was more difficult to ignore the way his mother and partner were watching him eat. Sandra glanced at Ben’s plate now and then but tried to be discreet about it; Rook stared blatantly, as if daring him to try and get away with anything. 

Ben was relieved when Rook went back to headquarters and his mother decided to leave him alone. It was harder to focus on hating himself with other people around distracting him. Ben sank into a vortex of self-loathing and lost track of time. Then he heard a knock at the door. 

“Hey, Ben, come on out. We’re having dinner.” 

Ben was surprised to hear his father’s voice. His dad wasn’t usually home at dinnertime; he must have gotten out of work early for some reason. Ben was even more surprised when his father led him to the living room, where his mother was already on the couch. There were a few grease-stained white bags on the coffee table. 

“Your dad picked up dinner on the way home,” said Sandra, her chipper tone slightly forced as she eyed the bags.

  
“Burger Shack-- your favorite,” Carl chimed in. “And I came home early, so we could eat as a family.”

Ben frowned. “Why?” 

“Yes, why _ would  _ parents want to spend time with their only son?” Carl replied, pretending to puzzle over it as he took a seat. He patted the space between himself and Sandra, and Ben reluctantly sat down. His mother stroked the ridge of his knuckles, and Ben realized his hands were clenched into fists. With effort, he uncurled them. 

Carl started setting burgers and cartons of chili fries on the coffee table. “Remember how you used to ask to eat in the living room when you were younger, so you could watch TV?” he asked Ben. 

Ben rolled his eyes. “Yeah, when I was a kid.” 

What kind of family bonding, nostalgic nightmare world had he walked into? In a better mood, Ben might have been touched that his parents were clearly trying everything they could think of to make him happy, but the smell of food was making him sick. Slithering panic twisted his stomach, and his headache, which had mostly subsided after his nap on the couch, came back in full force. 

“You were such an adorable child. So spirited,” said Sandra, her eyes oddly shiny as she turned to look at the family picture hanging on the wall. It had been taken a few months before Ben found the Omnitrix. Ben wanted to remember what he had been thinking when the picture was taken, but it was like trying to read the mind of a total stranger. 

Sandra lingered on the picture a while longer. Ben felt an odd flash of jealousy, followed by crushing guilt. Why wouldn’t his mother love his younger self more than who he was now? That kid hadn’t let the entire universe get destroyed; that kid  _ deserved _ to be loved.

“Well, let’s eat,” said Carl, biting into a burger. 

Sandra, looking as if someone was holding a gun to her head, ate a chili fry. “Mm,” she said, pasting on a smile. “Wow, Ben, they’re so good. It must be all the artificial flavors and preservatives.” Her eye twitched. “I can see why you like these so much. Here--” She nudged the carton in his direction. “Why don’t you have some? Have all of them, actually.”

There was no way to escape; Ben had a chili fry. And another. And another. Not only did they not taste wrong-- they tasted  _ good _ . Ben couldn’t make himself stop eating. He ate his fries and his mother’s, and he was halfway through a burger when he started to feel horribly, disgustingly full. It reminded him of the heaviness in his stomach when he threw up outside Mr. Smoothy’s. It reminded him of what he had done. 

Ben panicked. He felt trapped, fenced in by his parents, the table, the weight in his stomach. All he could think of was clawing his way out. He stood abruptly. “My head hurts,” he said. “From earlier. I need to lie down.” 

Carl and Sandra stood, too. “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?” Sandra asked.

“We can take you to the hospital right now,” Carl agreed, putting a hand on Ben’s back.

Ben tensed at his father’s touch. “No, it’s not that bad.” He squinted and pointed at the ceiling light. “It’s just too bright in here,” he lied. “It’s making it worse. I’ll be fine in my room.” 

Sandra and Carl exchanged glances. 

“We have a lot to talk about, but, if you’re not feeling well, it can wait until morning,” said Sandra after a pause. 

Carl nodded. “We’ll be right here if you need anything.”

Ben escaped from his parents’ concerned clutches and made it to his room, where he barely managed to open the window before vomiting. It brought no relief. Ben could still feel it-- that pressure, that fullness-- so he only hesitated for a moment before shoving a finger down his throat. More came up, but not enough. He did it again, pushing himself to puke until there was nothing left, until his throat ached and his stomach was completely empty. That was what he deserved: hollowness, pain. 

***

The dreaded discussion came the next morning. 

“We’ve been talking with your grandpa, and we’ve decided it’s best for you not to go on patrol for a while,” said Carl. 

The breakfast Ben had been forced to eat churned mutinously in his stomach. “I failed one mission, and suddenly I’m not good enough?” He had meant to sound angry, contemptuous, but his voice came out desperate and thin. 

Sandra took Ben’s hand. “It’s not a punishment, Ben. This is about keeping you safe.” Despite the tears in her eyes, her face was resolute. “I told you things would change if you didn’t start eating properly.” 

“You just _ saw _ me eat breakfast!” Ben cried, snatching his hand away. “And I had dinner last night, too, and you watched me eat lunch before that--” 

“All that proves is that you’ll eat when there’s no way of getting out of it,” Carl replied, crossing his arms. “If you need one of us here at all times to make sure it happens, that’s what we’ll do. We can’t let you do this to yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“Oh, yes, you are,” said Sandra angrily, swiping at her eyes. “You’re not just missing meals-- you’re actively avoiding them. You try to hide it by lying to me and your father, pretending to eat in front of Rook--”

Ben seethed. Some partner, talking about him behind his back! Everyone hated him, everyone was against him. . .

“Why are you doing this?” Sandra whispered, touching Ben’s cheek. “Why do you want to hurt yourself so badly?” 

“No matter what you’re dealing with, we’re here for you, Ben,” said Carl, his voice strained. 

Ben stared at the ceiling, refusing to cry in front of his parents. Tears would make them all the more determined to comfort him, and he didn’t deserve it. First, he’d let them die; now, he was ruining their lives. Why were they even bothering trying to help him? All he did was bring them pain. They would be better off without him.

Sandra stepped back. “If you’re not ready to talk about it now, we can’t make you.”

“But you’re not going back to Undertown until you do,” Carl added as sternly as he could. “We’re used to you risking your life, but we’re not letting you throw it away. You’re staying home until we get to the bottom of this.”

“Fine.” 

Ben saw the surprise on his parent’s faces; he knew they had been expecting an argument, but, why bother? Let the universe fall apart without him there to save it. Let it be someone else’s fault for a change. He had already proven his worthlessness.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

If Ben’s parents thought they could punish him by putting him on house arrest, they were wrong. They didn’t want him to leave the house; he wouldn’t leave his room. He got into a shouting match with his mother through the door when he refused to come out for lunch. In the end, she sat next to Ben on his bed as he agonized over the plate for an hour before taking a single bite. His parents already knew he was avoiding food, so there was no point in trying to hide it. Dinner was more of the same. 

Every meal made Ben want to throw up, but he couldn’t always get away with it. He started exercising whenever he was alone, punishing his pathetic body, mentally berating himself for eating, for taking nourishment he didn’t deserve. 

A couple days went by. On Friday morning, Sandra had an announcement. “Your Grandpa Max is taking you fishing this afternoon,” she told Ben. “Won’t that be fun? It’s been a while since the two of you have gotten to spend some time together.” 

Ben just groaned and burrowed deeper under his blanket. He hadn’t faced his grandfather since the failed mission. Being trapped on a boat with him for hours was the last thing Ben wanted. 

However, when Max arrived, he didn’t bring up the mission at all. He didn’t mention anything alien-related on the drive to the lake, either. The conversation might have seemed natural to an outsider, but Ben knew Max was purposefully avoiding the subject. Suspicion strangled his heart. 

Despite the summer sun, the lake air was cool. Ben shivered so hard, he could barely hold onto his fishing rod. While Max reeled in fish after fish, Ben didn’t get a single bite. Then a sharp yank pulled the rod out of his hand. Ben leaned over the edge of the boat to grab it. 

“Ben! Don’t--” 

Frigid water rushed to cover Ben’s ears, drowning out his grandfather’s words. The cold stabbed at him from all directions. He opened his mouth to scream. Water surged in. Ben choked, sinking. He started kicking, flailing, but his weak, wasted body didn’t have the strength to pull him to the surface. His racing heartbeat felt oddly insubstantial, like the bubbles racing upward around him: absence suspended within a presence. Then it stopped completely. 

Water rising. Body sinking.    
  
Cold.

Dark. 

Deeper and deeper. . . 

No bubbles. Absence within an absence.

Sinking, drowning. . .

. . .then a wavering flash of bright green light--

Water rushed through Ben’s gills. He shot to the surface with a few undulations of his powerful body and leapt into his grandfather’s boat. The Omnitrix beeped, and Ben changed back, shivering violently and spitting out lake water. 

***

Once Ben was wearing dry clothes--Max’s, since Ben hadn’t brought any extra with him-- and cocooned in blankets inside the Rust Bucket, the interrogation began.

“Ben, you need to tell  _ someone  _ what this not eating thing is about,” said Max, fighting to rein in his fear and frustration. “You’re destroying your body.”

  
“I’m alive, aren’t I?” Ben retorted through chattering teeth. “All I did was fall out of the boat. It was an accident-- you know, those things that can happen to anyone?”

“You’ve been swimming since you were a little kid, and you nearly drowned!” Max snapped. “That’s not normal, Ben. You’re sick.” 

“You don’t think I’m sick-- you think I’m  _ weak _ .” Ben’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m weak, and a failure, and a disappointment--”

Max cut Ben off with a crushing hug. “Don’t say that,” he told Ben.“ I’m _ very _ proud of you. I’m sorry if I haven’t told you enough.” Ben said nothing; Max pulled back. “Right now, all I care about is making sure you get healthy again--”   
  
“So I can go back on patrol,” said Ben dully. 

For a moment, Max was too stunned to respond. Did Ben think that was the only thing that mattered to him? “Even if you never go on patrol again, you’re still my grandson,” he said once he found his voice. “I want you to get better because I care about you-- is that really so hard to believe?” 

Ben did not hesitate. “Yes.”

The unfeeling certainty in Ben’s voice broke Max’s heart. He knew he had been pushing Ben harder than usual over the past few months, but it never occurred to him that Ben might think he didn’t care about him because of it. 

Max hoped that, deep down, Ben didn’t actually feel that way. He was sick and lashing out; his perspective was warped. However, even if that was the case, it was certainly how Ben felt about Max  _ now _ , which meant there was virtually no chance of him sharing his secret. 

There was nothing Max could do to help. He was beginning to doubt that anyone could.

***

“Ben, could you get the door?” Sandra called. 

Ben sighed and slunk out of bed. The spiteful urge to stay in his room had worn off; after all, if he wanted to torture his parents, almost drowning was a much more efficient way to go about it. He glanced guiltily at the Hawaaian shirt and pants crumpled in a heap near his bed, figuring his grandfather had come to get his clothes back. But, when Ben opened the door, he was shocked. 

“Gwen! Kevin!” he exclaimed, stepping back slightly. A flood of conflicting emotions rushed over him. 

They were his closest friends, and he had missed them so much; he wanted to hug them both and never let go. He wanted to tell them everything and have them tell him it would all be okay. 

They were his closest friends, and they had left him behind. They didn’t need him. They didn’t want him around. They were probably only visiting out of pity. 

They were his closest friends, and they hadn’t been there for him in the worst moments of his life. They couldn’t help. They couldn’t save him. 

_ If they knew the truth, they would hate me.  _ Ben had to force himself to keep breathing; he couldn’t even begin to think of what he should say.

Gwen filled the silence. “Ben!” she cried far too cheerfully, giving her cousin a hug. For all the enthusiasm in her voice, her touch was tentative, and she held Ben for only a moment before pulling away. “We’ve missed you so much.”

Terror paralyzed Ben. For a moment, he was convinced Gwen could sense some innate _ wrongness _ in him, the energy of another universe beneath his skin. Then he remembered that Gwen hadn’t seen him since he had started losing weight; his appearance probably shocked her. Ben knew how brittle his body looked, not fragile so much as already broken, a series of shards hastily pieced together. He would have been nervous trying to hug something like that, too. 

Kevin kept his hands in his pockets, his posture elaborately casual, but a glint of consternation shone through his dark eyes. “You look like shit, Tennyson,” he said, earning an elbow jab from Gwen. “What happened-- you have a run-in with Morningstar?” 

“Ignore him,” said Gwen. She flashed a prep-school perfect smile, and Ben realized she wasn’t nervous: she was terrified. “It’s. . . good to see you again.” Kevin shot her a look; she glared back. Gwen had clearly told him to act as if nothing was wrong, despite all the evidence to the contrary, but, why? Was she trying to lull Ben into a false sense of security? For what? 

Sandra came into the living room, still wearing the gloves she wore while washing the dishes. “Hey, kids,” she said brightly. “Wow! Isn’t this a surprise?”

Ben rolled his eyes. Was he really supposed to buy this?    
  
“It’s nice to see you, Aunt Sandra,” said Gwen, sounding as if she was reading lines for a school play. 

“Uh, yeah,” said Kevin, sounding like a bored friend being forced to watch a school play. His dark eyes landed on Ben. “We were in town and figured we’d see if you wanted to hang out, or something.”   
  
“He’d love to!” Sandra practically yelled. “Wouldn’t you, Ben?”

Ben figured the still-wet dish gloves were the only reason his mother wasn’t physically shoving him out the door. After how terribly his last outing had gone, he was surprised she was so eager to let him leave the house. Maybe she’d put it in Gwen and Kevin’s scripts that they weren’t allowed to take him anywhere near large bodies of water.

  
“Sure, I guess,” said Ben, not seeing any way out of it. 

Sandra waved goodbye. “Have fun!” 

“We will,” Gwen chirped. “Come on, Ben.”

Ben followed his friends to the car. His head felt heavy, but at least his stomach was empty. He had managed to throw up after breakfast and lunch. Twice in one day was progress. Maybe that was a good sign.

Ben took his usual seat in the back. To his surprise, Gwen sat in the back with him, and Kevin didn’t even comment on it. Ben was about to say something when Gwen gasped.

Ben’s heart raced. “What?” he asked, scanning the sky for alien armadas or other impending threats. His head pounded along with his heart, and he could feel his hands shaking. They were under attack, but he couldn’t see where they were coming from--

“Your wrist!” Gwen exclaimed. 

The sleeve of Ben’s hoodie had slipped back while he was buckling his seatbelt, exposing his wrist. Ben hastily pulled his sleeve down. “What? You’ve never seen the Omnitrix before?” he asked, trying to ignore his hammering heart. 

“Ben!” Gwen grabbed his arm and yanked his sleeve back up. “What _ happened _ ?” 

Kevin turned from the front seat. His eyes widened when he saw the tears in Gwen’s eyes, but his expression hardened when he saw Ben’s wrist. “Whoever did that do you, we’ll give them a pounding they’ll never forget.”

The skin around the Omnitrix was scratched raw, scabbed over in some places and swollen red in others where the wounds were more recent. It looked as if something had been clawing at the Omnitrix, trying to pry it off. Ben could see why Gwen and Kevin might assume it was the work of some alien enemy. 

“It’s nothing,” he said. “It scared me at first, too, though. I thought I was blacking out and using the Omnitrix. But then I realized I was just scratching at it in my sleep. No big deal.” 

Gwen and Kevin shared a long look.

“Well, who wants smoothies?” Kevin sing-songed sarcastically. 

  
Gwen’s eyes flashed pink. 

Kevin held up his hands defensively. “What, so only girls are allowed to act like everything’s fine? ‘It’s nice to see you, Aunt Sandra’!” He mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “‘Wow! Isn’t this a surprise?’” He turned to Ben. “The only thing surprising is that you’re not already dead. The way you look, you can’t be far off.”

“Kevin, stop it!” Gwen hissed.

Kevin raised his voice. “Am I wrong? Look at him!”

“He’s right here, alive,” said Ben. 

“Stay out of this!” Gwen and Kevin shouted at him. 

“You know what? Fine,” Ben spat, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I will.”

He didn’t want to spend time with Gwen and Kevin, anyway. They didn’t care about him. They didn’t want him around even before he let them and everyone else in the universe die.

His stomach hurt, and his mouth tasted like acid, and his head was too heavy, and the sun was too bright, and his heart was going too fast, but it somehow wasn’t enough, and everyone hated him. Ben didn’t want to feel any of it. All he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep until the whole entire new-and-improved universe burnt itself out.

Ben stepped out of the car. The world tilted sharply--

\--Goop splattered onto the ground in a flash of green light. Gwen jumped out of the car and ran to Ben’s side; Kevin followed. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” asked Gwen in a rush.    
  
“Did you just transform without touching the Omnitrix?” Kevin asked.

  
Gwen glared at him. “Is that  _ really _ the most important question right now?” 

“If it’s malfunctioning, maybe that has something to do with--”

“Guys, I’m fine,” said Ben, rearranging himself into an upright position before changing back. “And so’s the Omnitrix. Nothing’s wrong.” His eye twitched. 

Ben’s heart skipped a beat. His pulse was slowing down, which was a relief after how much it had been racing. . . Ben thought he could feel himself falling again, but then he was back on his feet. Wheels. He was XLR8. 

Gwen’s eyes widened. “The Omnitrix really  _ is  _ malfunctioning.”

“You didn’t try to hack it again, did you?” Kevin asked, narrowing his eyes. 

Ben opened his mouth to retort that hacking the Omnitrix had been Kevin’s idea in the first place, but then he started transforming again. Before he could even register what he had changed into, it happened again. And again. 

  
Gwen and Kevin’s shouts grew distant. Ben couldn’t feel his body-- whatever body it was-- anymore. No headaches, stomach pain, heartbeat. All he was aware of was the harsh, insistent beeping of the Omnitrix as it frantically cycled through aliens, and even that was fading away. . .

There was no lake to surface from. Ben let himself drown.


End file.
